


Love Thine Enemy

by Hamilham



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Broken Bone, John's a Redcoat, M/M, Not in Battle He's Just a Clumsy Fuck, Oops, This Has Probably Been Done Before but Whatever, What Was I Thinking?, a bit of blood, alex gets hurt, not historically accurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-21 03:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10676481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hamilham/pseuds/Hamilham
Summary: John Laurens was the son of an extremely loyalist man. When war broke out, his father decided that he should join the British in trying to tame the colonies. After a bit of a mishap, John finds himself becoming much to attached to a certain small loud-mouthed ginger with anger issues and probably more than three lifetime's worth of tragedies.AKA AU where Laurens is a redcoat and he falls in love with Alexander despite the war going on between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is shit. Read on!~

John felt tired as he stared into the dull, dying embers of the fire his battalion sat around. He was part of a relatively small group of redcoats that's sole purpose was to keep watch for any particularly courageous Rebels that wanted to try and raid the nearby town for supplies. However, after a day of searching there had been no signs of them, and after three days of keeping an eye out, the whole group was exhausted. 

John was in charge of keeping watch. He scanned the trees around their small camp warily, as if an army of their enemies could swarm out any minute. John had heard stories of the terrible things their foes had done. The slimy ways they fought. The couldn't be trusted.

John looked over when he heard a branch snap. He stood and pulled his gun close, readying it. It was better to be safe than sorry, after all. The wind blew. John shivered. It was a cold night, and John hadn't had the foresight to bring an extra blanket to where he sat, and he didn't want to get up.

He scanned the trees and noticed the shape of a man. He narrowed his eyes and aimed his weapon, his blue eyes shining in the dying light of the fire. 

"Hey!" He shouted, hopefully waking up some of his fellow soldiers. He began to march over to where the shape was, still keeping his gun trained on whoever it was. 

"Put your hands where I can see them! I know you're there!" There were a few moments of stillness before the figure grabbed a bag of probably stolen goods and bolted. John growled and rushed after him, positive that his allies would back him up.

"Hey! Get back here!" He was slowly gaining on whoever it was. Not only were they shorter than him, they seemed tired and weak. He fired his weapon and was disappointed when he missed. 

It felt like the two had been running for ages when suddenly the man vanished in front of him. John had no time to stop before he was hurtling down the same sheer cliff that the other man had apparently fallen down. 

He heard a clatter and a crunch and he noticed that the other man had landed on his feet hard. He himself landed on his hands and knees. He felt hot agony spread through his right wrist and he cursed loudly. He fumbled with his gun but realized it was damaged, likely beyond repair, from him landing on it. 

He looked over in search of the other man's weapon, only to find it broken too. He wished that he'd had the common sense to bring a knife. No matter, it didn't seem like the other man was in any position to harm him. He was on the ground, shaking terribly. John couldn't make out any of his features in the darkness, but from the gleam of the full moon through the tops of the walls they were enclosed in he could tell that the man had long hair held up in a ponytail.

He scooted back against the wall before standing. He'd just leave the man here to die. He walked over to retrieve the fallen bag only for the man to lash out. Apparently he had a knife. John barely jumped back in time to avoid getting his good hand stabbed. 

"I fucking dare you!" The man's voice was tight from pain, and he sounded close to tears, though it still had a tough note of defiance in it. 

"I'll end your damned life if you take another step towards me you disgusting redcoat!" Despite his apparent injury, he seemed ferocious. It probably wouldn't be the best idea to approach him. John sighed and made his way back to the wall. He didn't want to risk falling again, so he'd stay put until the sun rose, nursing his injured hand.

He glanced at his enemy occasionally to make sure he wasn't going to attack him. He just stayed curled on the ground muttering to himself, occasionally calling out insults to John, who found it quite funny despite the situation. He knew he'd be rescued soon, so what was the worry?

He waited. When the sun finally rose and cast light into the chasm they were trapped in, John realized that they were fucked. They were surrounded on all sides by at least twenty feet cliffs of sheer rock, as if someone had purposely designed a trap. He noticed that there were a few animal bones, though none were recent. A small stream trickled over the edge of one of the walls, vanishing through a small horizontal hole that he doubted he could even fit his whole arm through. 

John then decided to examine his fellow prisoner. He was still on the ground, though now he could see why. One of his legs was bent at an unnatural angle and it looked as if the bone had broken the skin, if the large bloodstain was anything to go by. He was shivering, though John couldn't tell whether it was from pain or cold. His hair was a vibrant red that contrasted against his pale freckled skin. He was also surprisingly small. Not just in height, either. He seemed like he'd been starving, and his clothes hung off of him.

After a few moments the man shifted and tried to move his mangled leg into a more natural position. He let out a soft cry of pain and slumped down again. John winced in sympathy. Even though he was an enemy it was hard to see someone in extreme pain like that. 

He took a step towards him, accidentally kicking a rock. The man turned and faced him, glaring, and John's breath caught in his throat for a few moments. He was strikingly beautiful. He had violet blue eyes that glimmered with intelligence and rage, though they seemed slightly dulled with pain. A soft smattering of freckles splayed across his cheeks. He seemed familiar, though he couldn't figure out why.

"Take another step towards me and you'll be in even worse shape than me." He snapped. His voice was weaker than previously, and it honestly hurt him to see him in pain. John held up his hands to try and show he meant no harm. 

"Listen, buddy. We're in the same position. I don't want to hurt you, but I've had experience with broken legs before. How about you let me take a look at it?" Sure, he was an enemy, but he didn't want to spend hours down here looking at the sickening sight.

"As if I'd even dare let you touch my, ya filthy Tory. I wish you'd try. You'll lose a hand!" The shivering had gotten worse, and he seemed even paler. John slowly approached him, though he was careful to stay out of range. 

"Listen, kid. I don't want to be stuck down here with a corpse, especially if some of your little rebel friends happen to come by, right?" John tried to reason with him gently. He could see the gears turning in the ginger's head, obviously calculating whether it was a trick or not.

"... If you try anything suspicious I'll skin you alive." He said, finally. 

John cautiously sat down and examined the leg the best he could.

"... I'm going to need to cut away your pants to get a better look at it." John said after a moment. The man growled and shifted slightly, flinching.

"I'll do it myself. I sure as hell ain't givin' you my knife." With his voice sounding so strained, an odd foreign accent that John was pretty sure he hadn't heard before was creeping into his voice. Odd. 

"I'll give it right back, damn kid. I'm trying to help you." John snapped. After a few moments of glaring, the man gave him the knife. John set to work removing the cloth around the wound, and the more he saw the sicker he felt.

He hadn't seen a broken leg this badly before. The bone beneath the knee was twisted and jutting out through the skin, blood still trickling from it. John was grateful that he'd once tried to pursue a career as a doctor before he father had pushed him into the war.

He set the knife aside and decided that he might as well get it over with. He barely gave the man a word of warning before he suddenly yanked and twisted the injured limb, shoving it back into place. Obviously, the man screamed and tried to punch John, though a combination of poor diet, his small frame, and the loss of blood, the punch barely hurt.

John backed away and looked at the man carefully. His breathing had gone shallow and the wound had begun bleeding more, but at least his leg was in the correct position. He picked up some of the discarded fabric from his pants and began to wrap strips of it around the wound, hopefully slowing the blood flow.

He was alarmed when the ginger didn't even flinch when he began to tend to the wound. 

"Doesn't it hurt?" He asked cautiously. The man's eyes were glazed. 

"It feels numb..." Suddenly his eyes widened with fear and panic. 

"Am I dying?!" He practically screeched. 

"I have so much stuff that I haven't done- I need to get back to my friends, oh God..." He was just rambling at this point, and John decided to tune him out. He was just rambling about how he needed to get things done and leave a legacy.

"Shh..." He tried in his most soothing voice. "You're in shock, is all, okay? You're going to live." He felt weird for helping an enemy soldier still, but he was sure it didn't matter. He gently grabbed his hand and felt that it was much too cold.

He backed away and took off his red coat before draping it over the small man. He snarled and glared at him, but made no move to be aggressive, though he still seemed indignant. 

"Disgustin' red coat..." He mumbled. He seemed incredibly tired and, sure enough, after a few moments he closed his eyes and began to sleep. John briefly wondered if it was safe for him, but decided that rest should be good. He sighed and relaxed. And waited. 

His allies would be there eventually. They could handle this feisty little heathen, and maybe get some information out of him.

For some unfathomable reason, John didn't really want that to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

John was fiddling with his broken gun hopelessly when the man awoke. He heard him grumble softly and he looked up and was pleasantly surprised to see that he was okay when he sat up. Though he'd only slept for three hours at most, he seemed incredibly rested. 

The man shivered and subconsciously wrapped the coat around himself. Seeing the small man wrapped in the too-large red jacket was almost too much for John, and it sent an odd but not unpleasant jolt down into his stomach. 

His violet eyes met John's blue ones and their intensity softened for a few moments before returning back full force. He then seemed to notice what he was wrapping around himself and suddenly shoved it off in disgust.

He crossed his arms and glared at John, shivering once again.

"What's your name?" The ginger demanded after a few awkward moments. The accent was gone, though now that John listened he could tell that he was consciously hiding it. John understood that. He'd hidden his Southern accent from his British allies at first before he'd decided that he didn't care.

"John Laurens." He said, giving him a small smile in hopes of calming him or something. The man seemed quite ferocious, and he hoped to soothe him. It didn't work. In fact, upon hearing his name, the man appeared even angrier.

"Laurens? As in Henry Laurens? Fuck him and fuck you." He said angrily. John was unsure if he was capable of even showing positive emotions. Though he guessed it made some sort of sense. He was an enemy. But still, they were going to be stuck together whether he liked it or not.

"Honestly I'm not that fond of my father either." John said, smiling weakly as if to make it a joke. It was true, though. Henry never really approved of John, and he never seemed pleased with what he did, no matter what. That's why John had jumped at the opportunity to fight. He could finally make his father proud... Even though deep down he longed for freedom. What he wanted was unimportant. As his past experiences had shown, he was never good at picking the right things to want.

His comment seemed to put the man at ease, if only slightly. He was still really pale from blood loss, and he looked sickly and cold. John, for some reason, wanted to warm him up and keep him nice and healthy, but he pushed those feelings down, blaming it on the fact that he used to want to be a doctor before his father told him he couldn't. He looked away.

"Alexander Hamilton." The ginger muttered after a minute, causing John to look back at him, since he hadn't quite understood what he'd said.

"Pardon?" He asked softly, hoping that he'd repeat himself.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton, and there's a million things I haven't done. But... Just you wait." He grinned at John almost threateningly, his eyes daring him to challenge him. He said the words with such determination and force that John knew that it was something he'd repeated often and believed every word of. He also recognized the name, since he'd seen it in newspapers and various articles floating around.

"I've heard of you. You're the one who writes for Washington?" He remembered reading some of the things. How they'd planted seeds of doubt in his mind because what he said simply made sense, and if his enemy made sense, what did that make his allies?

"I write for myself. Washington just profits from it." John liked his attitude. It was... Charming, in a way. He couldn't help but smile. Something in the feisty ginger just brought it out, even though he clearly didn't like John, and he likely would've killed him if his gun wasn't broken. He didn't want to think of that, so instead he focused on what he'd thought of the writings.

"You're a wise man, for a traitor." He mused, honestly impressed with him. Apparently he'd said the wrong thing, because he looked at him distastefully before taking a deep breath and letting out a rant that had possibly been cooking up for a long time.

"How does standing up for what I believe in make me a traitor? I am very loyal to my cause. You're the real traitor to the Colonies. You want that crazy monarch to rule us all. We wont have rights. We wont have freedom. We wont have a voice." He said with fierce sincerity, watering those seeds of doubt in John's mind.

His words bit at the doubt he'd been feeling ever since he joined the war. Whether or not he was on the right side... But he had to listen to his father.

"The King protects us, though." That was the best argument. The one that made the most sense, in his mind. Without his protection, America would be taken over by the Spanish or French or some other ruthless, less kind country.

"From what?" Alex asked, sneering.

"Other countries." He said, echoing his own thoughts. He hoped he would understand. That would be a lot of help. He couldn't explain why he was on the side he was on beyond that and that it was what his father wanted him to do. That thought scared him.

"From what I've seen, we can handle ourselves just fine without him." Once again hitting right on those doubts that John had been trying to force down, weakening him. He didn't want to be a turncoat. He didn't want to disappoint his father. Plus, he did have one good reason!

"Do you want a bunch of foreigners stealing our land?" He asked, thinking that those words would get to him. Most people he met weren't comfortable with letting new people uproot them from their homes and take their jobs.

"Isn't that what we're doing to the natives here?!" Alexander suddenly snapped, looking pissed. John didn't understand why, though. Weren't the natives savages anyways? Though he did have a good point, and what had happened with the natives did put a nasty taste in his mouth. It was similar to his opinions on the slaves... But why did he care so much?

"But-"

"I'm an immigrant, Laurens. Watch your fucking mouth." Oh. That explained it. That must've been why Alexander was so exotically beautiful- not that he was into men or anything. Definitely not. That was wrong.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." He apologized not wanting him to be mad at him. Of course, Alexander didn't take apologies too well. He growled at John.

"Now you do, so fuck off." He winced and turned his body, facing away from him.

"... You can cover up with my coat, if you'd like." John wanted to show this annoying little prick that he meant well and just wanted to take care of him.

"Over my fucking dead body."

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and suggest how I could make this shit better.


End file.
